Moving On
by lulu0814
Summary: Story made with leftover ideas from Pie. Snippets of various people coping, mourning, and moving on with their lives. Threeshot. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Even though this is a prequel to Pie, it is unrelated enough for people to understand this fic without reading it.  
**

***

**Cemetery**

When I awoke, I was in a hospital bed.

The first thing my clouded brain registered was the clean, spotless ceiling above my body, the second was the number of bandages covering my limbs. Finally, after a thorough look around the room, my gaze fell on Angela's slumbering form resting in an uncomfortable chair, her head lolling tiredly upon Hodgins' shoulder.

"Angela? Hodgins?" I whispered. My voice was too weak and hoarse for my liking.

Something was wrong. Something was missing. What was missing?

"Sweetie? You woke up?" Angela mumbled groggily as Hodgins gently shook her awake.

"Where's Booth?" I asked without thinking.

Booth, yes, something was wrong with Booth. Something bad happened to him. Where was he? Why were Angela and Hodgins the only ones here? Shouldn't Booth be pacing up and down restlessly, badgering the doctors about my state? Maybe he went home. Maybe he's absolutely fine, nothing happened to him, he's...

Angela started sobbing.

I closed my eyes. I was correct. Booth had died.

***

People say when you die, your whole life flashes in front of your eyes. But people are as wrong about that as they are about everything. Yes, I was spared during the explosion, but in my opinion my present existence is equivalent to death. And all _I_ ever saw was the suspect, running ahead of us. All I heard was Booth, trailing behind, yelling at me to stop. He must have seen or heard something I never took time to notice, because an instant later I was surprised to find he had pinned me to the ground, covering me completely with his heavy frame. His body was too close for comfort, I could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt. I could feel his heartbeat. I almost laughed to disperse the awkwardness of the position, yet my laughter quickly died in my throat when I realized his eyes were closed.

A bright white light engulfed my vision. There were no happy memories passing before my eyes, no images from the past to distract me from the heat, only a big, all-consuming white light. Who knows, maybe the light actually came from heaven, not a bomb, and some clichés are true after all.

Interestingly, I never told my memories to anyone. I simply let the moment play over and over in my mind until I became unbearably weary of the pain it brought, yet it restlessly haunted me and I was powerless to stop Booth from occupying my every waking hour. Talking could possibly give me relief, but if I talked to Sweets, he would try to analyze me. If I talked to Angela, she would cry, and I didn't have the strength to hurt her needlessly with my memories. The hurt is my own. I couldn't talk to Hodgins because he hovered around Angela constantly, and the last thing I wanted was see them worry about me behind my back. Sadly, I no longer trusted Max or Russ quite enough to talk to either of them yet. On the other hand, I most likely fabricated these fallacious reasons to convince myself I had no other choice but visit Booth again.

Talking to Booth will never be enough, never be as good as the real thing. Still, it gives me temporary respite until I wake up the next day, realizing like each morning that he is gone and won't come back. I felt safe was when I was on the floor, in his arms, his presence enveloping me and keeping me alive, and have never felt safe since.

After his death, I started work as soon as humanely possible, or at least as soon as Cam would allow, and tried to forget Booth by drowning him out with my work, making him and my constant sorrow disappear momentarily. It was stupid. I followed this tactic for a few months until one afternoon, while furiously finishing my last book, I realized I could barely remember his voice.

It scared me.

Instead of staying at the Jeffersonian until the security guards politely kicked me out, which was how my evenings generally ended, I hurried away directly after work. I had a surprisingly large amount of new messages on my recording machine, the majority of them left by an anxious Angela, but none remained from Booth.

I had to hear Booth's voice again. It was utterly irrational to be so terrified of forgetting someone's voice, and the idea of Booth talking back to me was insane, but I drove as quickly as I could all the same.

This is the reason why I visited the cemetery for the first time after the funeral. Simply to hear his voice again.

I stood awkwardly in front of the plain white tombstone, feeling extremely dumb.

Someone had left flowers on his grave. Maybe they were from Ange, Rebbecca, Jared. I didn't know.

I didn't have the courage to come before, too busy pretending nothing was wrong, knowing I was unable to fool anyone and particularly not myself. His second funeral had been a much more horrible experience than the first one, especially since this time he never showed up alive and well, looking as handsome in his uniform as ever, gallantly letting me punch him to the ground to vent out my frustration.

Many more mourners attended the service, including Booth's entire extended family from Pennsylvania, and there were numerous ex-girlfriends dabbing their cheeks with wads of tissues. I saw Tessa in the crowd, though she failed to recognize me. I saw Cullen, whom we had all lost contact with after his daughter's death and his consequent retirement. I saw some of Booth's old army buddies behind Jared and his father, who were both sober for once. Booth's Pops stood at a reasonable distance from them.

I will never forget the terrified expression on Parker's face when he saw me for the first time that day. "Bones," he whispered after the initial shock subsided, "What happened to you?" Rebbecca hurriedly apologized and chided the poor boy for his bluntness. Parker continued to stare as they walked away, his eyes filled with pure fear. He started crying, and ignored anyone who attempted to shut him up. He'd refused to believe his father's death, reminding everyone how very wrong the television had been last time. But if it was possible for Bones' face to be disfigured, it was also possible for daddy to be dead, wasn't it?

It's then that I started feeling guilty. A perfectly illogical reaction, but a strong one nonetheless. Why was I alive? Why did Booth save me when he so deserved to live?

"Hi Booth," I told the grave. I had promised Booth I would talk to him once in a while. Now that I was here and he was gone, I felt pathetic and very, very lonely.

"I miss you, Booth. We all do."

Of course I missed him. How could I not? He had slowly infiltrated every aspect of my life these past few years.

"I feel a little silly, standing here talking to a tombstone."

Well, I had promised him I would come. The least I could do was stand here after desperately trying to forget how much he had slowly infiltrated every aspect of my life these past few years.

"I miss arguing with you, sometimes. Car rides became quite lonely without your constant chatter in my ears."

Just arguing out of habit, neither of us really caring who's right or wrong, and bringing up completely stupid points because neither one of us wants to lose the argument. Now on the plus side, there are no more fights over who gets to drive.

"I tried to forget you by working overtime. I know you wouldn't have liked that. I'm sorry, I promise I'll stop working such long hours, and I'll remember to eat even though you aren't here to drag me out anymore."

Working like a maniac is not a healthy way to grieve, that's for sure. If Angela could be as effective at forcing busy forensic anthropologists to eat lunches, things would be much easier.

"I think I might have forgotten your voice. Isn't that awful?"

It's not that easy to forget somebody's voice. It'll probably come back soon enough, when you aren't thinking about it.

"I'm writing my last book. And you know what? Andy Ryan really is based on you. I can finally admit it. I hope you're glad."

It's not very surprising, everybody knows that already. I guess it's a nice thing to say anyway.

I paused for a moment, listening to the peacefulness of the graveyard, soaking in the light of the dwindling sun. I sighed.

"I'm scared Parker will hate me when he grows up. Do you think he will resent me? I'm alive, you're dead, and you saved me only to get yourself killed in the process."

Parker is a nice kid though, he'll understand. He could never hate somebody for such a cruel reason.

"I feel guilty too, you know? I feel very guilty. I should have died with you. Or you should have ducked and survived, but you had to save me, didn't you? You had to save me, and be your usual heroic self, and leave me behind just like everyone else always leaves me behind. This is the second time I had to go to your funeral because you saved my life, Booth! Do you know how painful it is?" I was yelling at the tombstone by then. "I wish you'd let me die, I do, I really do! Why should I be alive without you, Booth? You still had so much life in front of you, you had to watch Parker grow up and watch him get married and, and kiss your grandchildren, and interrogate suspects to arrest the murderers, and hug me when I cry, and... and I've got nobody to hug me when I cry anymore, Booth, do you know that?"

No, that's not true. Angela's more than willing to hug you if you'd only let her. And you still got plenty to live for, believe me, you shouldn't feel guilty about any of this. You have to give victims their faces back, and their identities back, you have to strangle the suspects who try to run away, and you also have to finish your last best-selling book, all that good stuff. Plus, your family loves you whether you care or not, the squints, and Max and Russ, they all love you and the way you're workin' like a crazy woman right now is making them worried like hell. And, well, you know I couldn't just let you die, right? I couldn't just duck behind something, I could either try to save you or we could both stupidly die for no reason. I know it was harsh to leave you behind and I'm sorry it turned out this way, but I'm glad you're alive, Bones. You really, really deserve to be alive, okay? So for Christ's sake, don't do anything stupid. It'd be pretty pointless if you killed yourself after I went through all that trouble to save you.

Only then did I realize the annoying voice talking back to me sounded exactly like Booth. Hearing his voice again brought me unspeakable relief, even if it was in my head, which likely meant I'd finally become demented with grief. Even so, his voice sounded familiar and reassuring, and although every single word he spoke was a figment of my imagination I almost started to believe the entire conversation was real.

And he called me Bones. No one called me Bones anymore.

"I miss you, Booth," I confessed.

I miss ya too, Bones.

"Did you love me? I wish I had asked. Sometimes I saw that glint in your eyes, and that smile, and I wasn't sure... Even if you didn't love me, at least I wouldn't be so deep in incertitude. And even if we eventually broke up without talking to each other again like so many couples always do, it seems almost better than never knowing if you loved me back. I should have asked you when I still had a chance, instead letting my fear..."

I loved you, Bones. I'll always love you. Don't ever doubt that. Even if in the end you think you don't deserve to live, that your life is pointless, or that what I'm telling you is just some screwed up daydream your brain made up because of your depression, don't ever doubt that I loved you and I always will whether you believe it or not.

"Really?"

Yeah.

"Thank you."

No problem.

"I hope you're in a nice place. Maybe heaven or some similar religious nonsense."

I am, Bones, don't worry about me. Just keep on livin'. Try to be happy for me, all right? You know you gotta move on eventually. I know you love me too, but you can't live the rest of your life pining over me.

And even though I still wish I had died with of him, even though I couldn't possibly accept the idea that the voice in my head was truly Booth communicating with me from beyond the grave, I _knew _he had loved me. It was a bittersweet revelation, but it nevertheless brought me comfort. Booth loves me. However empty and hollow it might be to reach this conclusion months after his death, I could still live on, knowing a wonderful man had once loved me back. Loved me enough to die twice.

I looked up then, and above the neat rows of headstones, there was a sunset. A beautiful, glorious, ironic sunset. The small amount of solace I garnered from Booth's voice seemed to immediately vanish into the darkening sky. I closed my eyes against the cold mocking light, unable to bear the sensation of something deep inside me slowly being ripped into shreds by the deeming but still radiant beams of sunshine. At that moment, I understood how hearts can be broken.

"All beauty is transient and of the moment," Angela told me once.  
"Like a sunset is beautiful."

How right she had been.

I opened my eyes as the sun slipped away on the horizon. In a way, I had shared this beautiful moment with Booth, right? But Angela was wrong after all, those fragile instants of beauty were not enhanced by the presence of a loved one, they simply were simply rendered meaningless when the person you want to share them with is no longer by your side. Just like everything else, every lonely morning, every car ride, every sentence in my new book, every lost opportunity seemed to bring me misery after Booth left me. I wanted to be with Booth. I wanted to share a sunset with Booth. I don't know why, but the knowledge that I never would was more intolerable than anything else.

I sank down. I didn't have enough strength to stand up. The grass was prickly and slightly wet beneath my weary body. I rested my head on the cold white stone, letting the tears fall freely from my eyes and watching them roll down the cool surface while I traced the smooth carved name with my fingers. It was cold, while Booth's embrace had always been warm.

I remain unsure how long I stayed there, sprawled and crying on top of a tombstone until Angela came to pick me up. I have no clue how she knew where I was. I should definitely be more grateful for Angela. She hugged me.

From then on, I searched for memories everywhere. I desperately gathered the half-forgotten moments of happiness we had shared, as beautiful and transient and bygone as the setting sun. I treasured them, no matter how mundane and insignificant they were. Jasper the pig, my mother's earrings, mistletoe, Thai food, pie, colorful socks... I lovingly recalled all those little things I had ignored or found annoying about him when he was still alive, like the crinkles around his eyes when he grinned, the tiny dimple on his chin, the stubble that grew on his face when he went on without shaving, the coffee he brought me almost every morning, the way he dragged me out of my office every time we had a case, the way he helped me put on my coat, the genuine happiness in his brown eyes when they smiled back at mine. Seeking those small fragments of our years together became an unhealthy obsession, but it was better than working myself to death.

Booth is right, I will keep on living. It's not the first time I've had to move on. My parents left me, my brother left me, Zack left me, even Booth has left me once before. I can move on, I've done it, I can do it again. I have to.

But why does it seem so much more difficult this time?


	2. Chapter 2

**I doubt anyone even remembers this fic but what the hell, I wrote this, might as well post it.**

**_TISSUE WARNING_. Now you can't blame me if you keep on reading. (This one isn't very sad, though.) Alright. This chapter focuses more on the FBI and is set after both Cemetery and Pie.**

*****

**FBI Building**

It had been an honor to work with Agent Booth. Really, Booth was a good guy.

It's hard to dislike somebody like Booth, even though he was a little too curt sometimes. He could afford to be anyway, he was not only great as his job, but also the only person in the whole building who could tame the scary Dr. Brennan. Seriously, she's a dangerous woman, she's likely to break your wrist if you touch her without permission. Poor old Booth lived in almost constant stress, having to deal with his skeletons and his arrogant genius partner and his ex who never gave him enough time with his kid, and understandably he wasn't the most polite man in the world as a result. But hey, I've worked with much worse than Booth. At least he didn't make fun of my weight. All you needed to remember was to never touch his stuff, never waste his time, and never, ever, be disrespectful to Dr. Brennan, or physically come in contact with any part of her body, or even stare at her for an extended amount of time. It was a well-known fact that Booth was way overprotective when it came to women in general, but around his partner, he literally acted like an aggressive male rhinoceros.

Of course, all the female employees here adored Booth. Let's face it, he was good-looking. He was also a member of the hockey team, was a single-father, was an ex-sniper, was an amazing shot, and I've even heard him being described as "romantic". He never seemed like the romantic type to me, but what do I know? The girls had elevated him to a status of perfection, and if Booth had been interested he could have slept with any number of them. But they knew Booth wasn't interested.

His partnership was the core of all gossip in not only Quantico but also the Jeffersonian Institute. Heck, I worked for Booth a couple of years and even I'm not sure what was really going on between those two. Some went as far as believing their whole "we're just partners" shtick was a load of crap, they actually kept their relationship a secret so their shrink wouldn't separate them, and that they'd been banging each other for years now. They were way too close not to be sleeping together, I admit, yet something tells me they weren't. There was this awkwardness, this shyness sometimes, this tension between them that shouldn't have been there. I can't explain it.

The general consensus was that they were in love with each other but too stubborn to admit it. At least it's what our sources from the Jeffersonian told us, but the squints can never be completely trusted, and in the end nobody was ever entirely sure about those two. When we saw them coming out of the elevator bickering like an old couple about God knows what, it was impossible to believe they weren't sleeping together. But then again...

I don't gossip of course. It's just stuff I heard.

And yes, we had a betting pool if you must know.

But I'm off-topic. Booth, like I said, was a good guy. He had the reputation of being damn near impossible to bribe, yet willing to go to stupid lengths for his loved-ones. I can confidently assure you this is true, unlike many other rumors the girls circulated around (I personally doubt he was a particularly romantic person). Although nobody openly talked about it, we knew he lost his credit on the RICO case because of his ex-navy brother's drinking problem. It's exactly the kind of self-destructive and admirable thing Booth had the habit of doing. I'm pretty sure Booth doesn't even like Jared a whole lot, but he would've done anything for his little brother all the same.

I'll tell you something. Me and some other desk-job agents like me, we were all competing for a promotion a while ago. I wasn't exactly expecting to get one, to be honest. I wanted it, sure, and I was more than willing to work my ass off, but unlike the others I wasn't much of a suck-up, and bribes aren't my forte. I'm not saying the other agents were bribing people, they were just... cheating a little so they could become more well-liked in the minds of their superiors. But I really would have rather kept my job with Agent Booth than lose my dignity. Working for Booth really wasn't bad.

Fine, okay, to be honest, I did give a few "birthday presents" to some higher ups, but that doesn't count. You should have seen Agent Sterling, that brown-nosed bastard.

One day Maggie strolled in nonchalantly and told me "Hey Charlie, boss wants to see you." If she'd been talking to Booth she probably would have called me "Agent Booth" instead of "hey Charlie," and she probably would have batted her eyelashes or smiled seductively, but I'm not the kind of guy who gets preferential treatment. Whatever, I don't care, Maggie isn't _that_ pretty anyway.

To my surprise, the boss told me I got the job.

"Really?" I asked him. That was unexpected. I was sure Sterling would get it.

"Yes Charlie." He smiled.

"Wow, thank you sir."

"You look surprised."

"What? No, I just, I..."

"Agent Booth put in a good word for you." I stared at him, calmly sitting in front of me at his desk, his hands clasped in front of him. Booth helped me get the promotion?

"He did, sir?"

"Yes. And Jesus knows how Booth is damn near impossible to bribe. If he says you deserve the job, I can be positive the man actually means it. He has a truly intimidating amount of integrity, don't you think?"

"Yeah. I totally agree, sir."

"You've got a new office, Agent Burns. Pack up your stuff. Oh, and congratulations."

When I later went to thank Booth, he was on the phone, flipping through some files on his desk.

"No, no, you're not even listening to me," he said. He looked up from his desk when I entered. "Wait a moment, will you?" he told the person at the other end of the line and turned to me.

"What'd you want Charlie?" he asked impatiently.

"I wanted to thank you, Agent Booth. I really appreciate..."

"Nah, don't mention it, you deserved that promotion more than those slimy little corrupt suck-ups," he told me absently, still flipping through the files. That's the closest thing to a compliment Booth ever gave me.

"I'm glad you have such a high opinion of me, sir."

"Mmmh. Anything else?"

"No. But thank you again for... "

"It's nothing, just keep working hard, alright? Make me proud of ya," he replied.

He then continued his conversation on the phone as though I wasn't there. "Look, forget it, Bones. No way I'm gonna start eating overpriced rabbit food just because you say some crocodile's penis is shrinking. Wh... Well you never eat pie either, do you? So? That's... I don't know, but if they invent tofu pie someday..."

Gosh, I really can't believe he's gone.

Nobody fought over his chair after he died. First of all, Booth wasn't a prick, unlike Kelton. Kelton was a horrible asshole while Booth was generally well-liked, despite everything. Second of all, there's a rumor going around about the chair being cursed, though obviously nobody actually believes a chair can kill people. I think somebody made up the curse to secretly show some respect to Booth without being labeled as "sentimental" and getting laughed at by the other tough guys.

After all, Booth died saving his partner's life. Not exactly a surprise, considering his dangerous job and their close relationship, yet somehow it felt unexpected, and poignant, and very unfair. His son is still so young, and we all really wanted to know who would win the pool. Being able to save his partner is probably the way Booth would have wanted to go if he had a choice. That's the only positive thing I can think of.

To be honest I've been feeling faintly depressed these past few days, and the rest of the employees I crossed have looked a little gloomier too, even though we're all pretending we don't care. The place suddenly feels slightly empty without those two's constant bickering. I bet the Jeffersonian is just as lifeless, if not more.

I heard Dr. Brennan was injured in the explosion. I hope she's fine. I can't begin to imagine how it must be...

"Hey, Charlie."

I looked up from my long, boring reverie to see Parker Booth standing right in front of my desk. Jesus Christ, how did the boy even get there?

I'd been working as hard as possible, like Agent Booth had told me to, but as you can probably tell I hadn't been particularly productive, too busy thinking about Booth's death. It was almost ten by now. Shouldn't the kid be asleep?

"What are you doing here, Parker?" I asked the boy disbelievingly.

"I took a taxi," he shrugged. "I'm looking for my dad. He's not in his office, so now I'm looking for my dad's boss. And I saw you sitting here, and you look sad, and you're one of the only people I know in the FBI building, and I thought I would see if you know where my dad's boss is," he shuffled his feet a little.

"Why do you need to see your daddy's boss, Parker? Does your mother know where you are?"

"Well everybody keeps saying my daddy's dead just like last time when he got shot, except this time even my mom thinks he's dead. But I know he can't be, he just forgot to tell us he's not, and now they've even been cleaning out his office." He pointed towards Booth's office with a frown. "That's kinda mean. Can't they just wait 'til he comes back? Daddy will be angry when he sees they moved his stuff."

What am I supposed to say?

He stared at me with his cute puppy-dog brown eyes.

Oh Lord, what do I do?

"Oh, or maybe I'm not allowed to see my daddy's boss," he pondered. "I get it. I don't wanna get you in trouble. Maybe you could just tell me where Sweets' office is, and I could ask him to call mommy and make her stop crying. Or has Sweets gone home already?"

"Parker..." I swallowed nervously. I could feel tears starting to prickle my eyelids, threatening to fall. Good Lord, I'm not gonna cry, am I? "Your daddy, Agent Booth... he's dead. He's truly dead this time."

He sighed. "They forgot to tell you too, didn't they? Bones got mad last time because nobody told her. I'm a little bit mad at daddy too right now. If I talk to dad's boss or Sweets they can both clear this up, right?"

"I... It's not the same this time. He really is dead. I'm sorry."

"Pfff. No he's not. Last time they even said on television that he was dead, and in the end he was alive. I still remember, you know. I'm not stupid."

"Buddy, your father... there was an explosion, and... He was killed by a bomb. Doctor Brennan was injured too. Have you seen her lately?"

He paled a little, and I saw the first traces of fear in his eyes since he came into my office. But he quickly shook his head. "You're wrong. You're wrong ok, Charlie? Bones is just busy. Nothing could have happened to her either." Panic started to creep into his voice.

He was beginning to realize the truth. I felt like a heartless asshole for shattering his fantasy.

"Look, let me call your mother..."

"No!" he yelled, "I don't want mom to come. I need to make sure he's not dead first!"

"Parker, you're not supposed to be here. I've no idea how you even got past our security. You need to go home and sleep, and maybe have a chat with your mother,"I pleaded.

Please, make Rebbecca deal with him instead of me. Now that I think of it, how _did_ the boy get through security?

"I... Can I talk Sweets first? Or anybody who can tell me for sure if my dad is alive?"

"I think we should let your mom decide."

"Please, I need to know. _Please_." I tried to ignore his pleading tone and reached for the phone.

"Sorry kid. It's too late, and I'm sure everyone else is already gone. I'll call your mother and she'll bring you home, alright?" I lied. I was positive Doctor Sweets wasn't in the building, but I knew enough people were left to convince the boy of his father's tragic death. I just... I didn't want anybody to destroy his illusion. It would happen eventually of course, but I didn't want it to be my fault.

I have Rebbecca's number. A long time ago, Booth gave it to me in case something happened to him.

When she came in, accompanied by security, she was an angry blonde mess. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and she looked like the perfect picture of a scared mother.

"What is _wrong_ with you, Parker? Are you trying to kill me?" she yelled as soon as she saw the boy. She crouched down and hugged him fiercely against her, sobbing against his shoulder. I felt sorry for her.

"Mom, mom, calm down..."

"Never do this again, honey. You never, _ever_ do this to me again ever, you hear me?"

"Mom, I'm sorry, but I had to make sure about daddy. I know he's alive, and I know you're wrong, but Charlie won't let me see..."

Rebbecca only cried louder.

"Mom!" Parker yelled, "Mom, listen, I need to talk to somebody in the FBI who knows daddy isn't dead, and Charlie won't let me see anyone unless I ask you."

The poor woman turned her tear-filled eyes to me questioningly. I tried to look as noncommittal as possible.

"I don't... maybe we should... we should just go home. It's late, you have school tomorrow."

"School? You want me to leave because of school? Dad is more important than school!" the boy shouted, clearly outraged.

"Watch your tone. You're the one who ran off in the middle of the night and _you're_ screaming at me?"

"Well, but..." Parker looked slightly sheepish. "But I need to know. I need to know if he's really alive. Please mom..."

I had never met Rebbecca before and I never really liked the way she treated Booth anyhow, but I realized Rebbecca was reacting just like me. She knew the boy would have to come to terms with his father's death someday and she had probably tried to make the boy face the truth, but in the end she didn't have the heart to completely crush his childish hopes either.

"We're going home Parker," she whispered resolutely. "Thank you Agent Burns."

"No! No, mom, come on! Please!"

She practically had to drag the kid out of the building. I went home shortly after. I couldn't focus on work very well that day.

*****

"Hey Charlie," a little voice whispered in front of my desk. I wasn't nearly as surprised to see him the second time, but with the way he'd cried at the funeral, there was no doubt Parker knew about his father's death by now. I had no idea why he was here again.

"Hello Parker. Why are you here again?"

"I need to know who killed him," he answered.

We stared at each other for a long, long time without saying a word.

"I'm afraid we don't know yet," I finally told him, breaking the awkward silence. "The investigation is ongoing and we can't confirm who exactly placed the bomb in the building. The evidence isn't concrete enough for us to identify the perpetrator. I'm sorry, but when we learn anything I'll make sure to contact you and your mother immediately."

"He was going to arrest somebody before he died. The person who was running away could of done it."

"Yes, but that guy died in the explosion too."

"Oh," he whispered in a tiny voice.

"Sorry."

"If dad was still alive, he and Bones would've found the killer a long time ago."

"I... I don't doubt that."

There was an awkward silence again.

"I think Bones feels guilty for my daddy's death, Charlie."

"What?" How did the kid start thinking about things like this?

"I've only seen her once since the funeral. She wouldn't look me. And the only thing she told me is that she was sorry and it's all her fault." He paused. He slowly traced patterns on the wood of my desk with his index finger, pretending I wasn't there for a moment. "I can't believe what happened to her face," he finally whispered.

"Me neither," I sighed. Poor Brennan. She completely refused to work with other agents. Perotta says she'll be assigned to the Jeffersonian soon, but who knows if it's true. Even if it is, Brennan would probably ignore her completely and make her work with her weirdo interns. The bone lady doesn't like Perotta too much. Maybe because Perotta liked _Booth_ too much.

I wouldn't be surprised at all if the woman did feel guilty for Booth's death, but that's not the kind of thing a child of Parker's age should be worrying about when his father gets killed.

"It's not Bones' fault if daddy is dead. She knows that, doesn't she?" He looked at me expectantly, as though he wanted to make sure he was correct.

"Of course. Of course she knows. I'm positive Dr. Brennan is absolutely fine, you shouldn't worry about grown-up stuff."

The boy frowned at me. "Charlie, just because I'm young doesn't mean I'm an idiot. You can't blow me off this easily." For a second, he looked exactly like a miniature angry Booth.

"No, no, you're not an idiot, that's not what I meant." The boy really is smart for his age. Reads people just like his father. It must be in the genes.

"I'm sick of people treating me like a five year old. All my teachers look at me weird and speak to me softly and ask me all the time if I'm OK. How could I be OK? My dad got blown up! And my daddy's partner has these, these burns on her face..."

He hesitated a bit, his brow softening. "Do you know if there's a way for me to see her? Bones, I mean. She's avoiding me. I've tried sneaking into the Jeffersonian but I got caught, and an Asian lady who works there told me Bones wasn't ready to see me right now, and then the lady started crying, and I don't think anybody even told Bones that I was there. It was weird."

"Wh- why are you asking me, Parker? I have no power over Doctor Brennan or the staff at the Institute."

"Well Mr. Keenan won't help me. And Sweets isn't in his office today either, I checked. I don't really know who else to ask anymore, everybody thinks I should leave Bones alone and 'let her grieve in peace' and stuff."

"Then... then maybe you _should_ leave her alone. If she's not ready to see you yet, you should simply let her be, Parker."

"But I've got to see her. Dad would be disappointed in me if I didn't talk to her." He gave me this look, with his little brown eyes, and my heart almost melted. Damn this kid and his cuteness.

"I, I'm afraid I don't understand why you so desperately want to talk with her. She has nothing to feel guilty about. Moreover your father was only her work partner, her colleague. They weren't..."

"My dad was in love with her," he affirmed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And Bones feels guilty because he saved her life before dying. I need to tell her she deserves to live. Because she does." He looked at me hesitantly again, as though he wanted me to confirm his words.

"Yeah, she does," I mumbled back. I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna cry...

"And I'm glad daddy saved her. Really, it's just, it would have been nice if, if dad could have survived too. Even if his face is scary looking I'd be glad if he was alive."

"Everyone would be glad if your father was alive, buddy. He was a good guy. But I'm afraid I can't..."

He shook his head. "You don't understand. He wasn't a 'good guy', he was my dad. My _dad_, Charlie. But he's not your dad, and you don't get why I want to see Bones so badly, and you're not going to help me. I just want to make Bones feel better, and nobody wants to help me." His chin trembled, and he bravely tried to hold back his tears. Once again, I felt like an asshole.

When an agent dies, we try to ignore it, to laugh it off, to pretend it doesn't affect us. Like Agent Kelton for example. Sure the guy was a jerk, but did he really deserve to die from lung cancer at his age? Of course not, even if nobody liked him. And Agent Nate, who died during the shooting a few months ago, did he deserve to die? No, of course not, his daughter was going to get married in a week. And Agent Booth, did he deserve to get blown up, saving his partner's life but losing his own in the process? No. Hell no. I don't do much field work, so it doesn't affect me as much as others, but for people like Booth and Brennan, people who have to pull out their guns regularly, seeing other agents bite the dust makes their own death seem just a little bit closer. And so they pretend they don't care, and fight over chairs, and complain about betting pools, and make jokes about how Nate's daughter is probably better off without her father acting like a moron at her wedding. But when you've got the son of your dead co-worker crying right in front of you, you can't help but face reality.

And reality is, Booth wasn't just a good guy. He was more. We made fun of him and his overwhelming honesty, his incorruptibility, how damn near impossible it was to bribe him, yet deep down we knew these characteristics made him better than most of us. He was the FBI's poster boy, and we should have been way more jealous of him and his famous partner, but he cared so much more about finding the truth, helping the victims, and protecting his beautiful partner than about money and recognition that we felt he sort of deserved to have bestsellers dedicated to him. After all Booth gave up his big RICO case to cover up for his little bro's DUI, the stupid, self-sacrificing, annoyingly honorable son-of-a-bitch. Even when he does something selfish, he has a better reason than any of us. Turns out he actually wanted Kelton's chair because of back problems, although he never openly admitted it. Plus, he and his partner were more in love than any other two humans I've ever seen, regardless of whether or not either of them were willing to admit it, and they should have lived on together, maybe made a few babies after another few years, instead of seeing their story end with Booth saving the love of his love before getting blown to smithereens. The bastard even had to _die_ in a honorable way. But the poor, miserable Dr. Brennan...

And I mean, what would Booth do if a little boy came into his office asking for his help?

"Parker?" I whispered after silently letting him cry for a while.

"You're going to call my mom, huh?" He asked me in return. His defeated tone sealed my decision.

"No. I won't call her unless you want me to." I felt a twinge of guilt when I thought of how worried Rebbecca must be feeling, but it wasn't enough to sway me.

The boy looked pleasantly surprised. He wasn't expecting much from me, apparently. "Really? Oh. Thanks, that's nice."

I stood up and put on my jacket. "Come on, kid, follow me."

"Why? Where are you going?"

"We're going to the Jeffersonian."

"To see Bones?" The gratitude radiating from his face told me I was doing the right thing.

"I'll do whatever I can to make sure you talk to her. You coming?"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he yelled as he ran out of my office to push the elevator button, ignoring the quizzical glares of the FBI agents in the hallway.

I smiled.

Hmm. Booth would definitely be proud.

*****

**This is way WAY longer than I thought it would be. I don't know what happened.**

**I've always liked Charlie and random-FBI-forensics-guy-with-glasses, although we don't really know much about either of them. This is what I imagine Charlie's point of view sounds like.**


	3. Chapter 3

**This is the final chapter (phew, finally). Again, _TISSUE WARNING__. _Don't blame ME if you don't grab the kleenex. See there? Bolded and italicized and underlined? So if you cried when Bambi's mother died...**

"I'm moving on, Angela. Or at the very least I'm attempting to do so. If you stop nagging me constantly, I might even succeed," she grumbled, visibly annoyed.

"Bren, I know you love Booth." She doesn't correct me anymore when I tell her she loves Booth. How ironic is it that? Admitting to herself that the man she saw almost every day for four years was the love of her life only after he gets blown up. "But you can't let his death ruin your life. You gotta live in the present, connect with other people..."

"I did. I had a date two days ago."

"A date. For real?" I wasn't sure I could believe her. Was she telling me this only to shut me up? "Who is it? Is he hot? Do I know him?"

"Eric Lombard, an agent. He worked with the FBI for nine years," she replies very convincingly.

Wow. It must be true, Brennan isn't that good of a liar.

"Aw, sweetie, I'm so happy for you. You're finally letting him go, and enjoying life, and..." I went to hug her but she pushed me away, looking mildly annoyed. "Are you going to see him again? Will you introduce me soon?"

"No," she said dryly.

I felt a little stab of disappointment, but with her usual luck with men I guess I shouldn't have expected too much. "Why, what's wrong with the guy this time?"

"He is boring."

"He's boring? _You_ thought a man was _boring._" I always thought boring men were her type?

"Yes. He possessed no sense of humor whatsoever. He agreed with every single comment I made, as though he had no opinions of his own. He prattled on and on about gun laws, sports, and how sorry he felt for my loss."

"I see."

"And he wasn't even particularly attractive, if you must know. From a distance he has tolerably symmetrical features and a more than acceptable muscle mass. However, with closer inspection I noted that he is several inches too short for me. I'm almost taller than him." Hodgins is shorter than me and I never thought anything of it. Sully wasn't tall either and she defended his height when Booth made fun.

"Most of all, though," she said, "his eyes... they're... they're wrong."

"His eyes are wrong?"

"They aren't the proper shade of brown. And they... They're just _wrong_."

"That makes no sense, Brennan. All the great guys in the world will come up short if you compare them to your idealized version of Booth, it's a given."

"I'm not comparing everyone to Booth. Although the large majority of men I meet do come up short, it's only because Booth is... was a superior male, and absolutely not because of any personal lapses in judgment."

"Psh. You said his eyes were 'the wrong kind of brown'."

"Ange, drop it, please. It's too early. I tried. I can't do it. Now if you would excuse me, I have work to do." Her expression told me the conversation was over. Damn, I hate it when she shuts me out like this.

I sighed. Time is supposed to heal all wounds. In her case, she should probably switch meds.

Sweets came in when Brennan started working again and tried to explain the stages of grief to help us handle our feelings, and in the end he started crying himself. I immediately regretted my awkward pats on the back when he started sobbing on me. Brennan was still buried deep in denial, pretending nothing was wrong and working like an insane woman. Of course she refused to listen to Sweets' psychological ramblings, proclaimed her absolute disdain for the field of psychology, told us all that she was absolutely fine, and went on striving to accomplish her admirable goal of identifying every skeleton in limbo twice as fast as humanly possible.

She's not trying to kill herself with exhaustion anymore, thank God. Now she's mostly quiet. She doesn't really talk to people unless we nag her, at which point she normally yells at everyone within earshot to leave her alone. She doesn't like talking about Booth. She goes home at almost normal hours now, which basically means Cam doesn't order the security guards to kick her out before morning anymore. She's still working a little too hard, but I guess she needs something to fill the gaping hole Booth's left behind, and work is the only alternative she knows of. Personally I think a new man would be a better substitute than reconstructing skulls, not that she listens to me. She's always in her own little world, her eyes lost somewhere in the distance, most likely recalling the past she shared with her hunky dead partner. _Of course_ all other men pale in comparison. How could they not?

She's not fine. We all know she isn't. She thinks it's her fault if Booth's dead. She thinks it's her fault if Parker doesn't have a father anymore. She thinks she should have died in that building.

"Doctor Brennan?" Half of Cam's head peeked through the office's door.

Oh, she looks nervous.

Something bad happened.

It was _such_ a bad idea.

But what else could I do? When the freaking FBI starts pressuring you, you do what they say even if you think they're a bunch of pompous morons.

"Doctor Brennan?" I tentatively asked through the crack of the door, wondering if Brennan would karate-chop me.

"I wanted to inform you..." I inhaled deeply. "The FBI... they think they gave you an appropriate amount of time to get over... to mourn your partner's... Booth's death. And they... well..." I closed my eyes, mentally counted to ten and turned to the person causciously standing at a reasonable distance behind me. "Come on in, Agent Perotta," I whispered.

Angela buried her face in her hands. I knew exactly how she felt.

Agent blondie strode into the office, looking even more nervous than me. My gosh, this is so not good. "Doctor Brennan," she began carefully, as though she was talking to a wild animal with rabies, "I am sincerely sorry for your loss, but the bureau sent me to negotiate a new partnership between the Jeffersonian and the FBI. Your assistance is very precious to us. Plus, well, we have a very high profile case right now, and since you're the best, your help would be tremendously useful. I know you don't like me, and you're really not my favorite person in the world either, but I'm sure if we can both compromise a little we'll be able to get along eventually..." She trailed off pitifully, intimidated by Brennan's stony silence. Normally the protesting should've started in the middle of the first sentence.

And yet, no, nothing. Only silence. Not a good sign.

She stared at Perotta for about five more seconds before bolting out the door.

"She just disappeared, Sweets. Nobody has any idea where she is."

"And she's been gone for how long?"

"Since this morning. Angela, Hodgins, and Max are all looking for her."

"She's been missing since this morning and I'm only told _now_?"

"Well, we didn't think she'd just leave. Sometimes during lunch breaks she... goes off, and she only comes back hours later. But at least she always came back."

"Of course you never felt the need to inform her psychologist of her strange behavior, did you? Do you have any idea where she usually goes, at least?"

"The cemetery, the diner, the bar, Booth's apartment. You know, anywhere that reminds her of him. But those are the first places they looked."

"Oh man. You guys really should've told me way sooner."

"We did call you after all, didn't we? They still haven't found her yet, so we thought maybe you could help with your psychological superpowers."

"I see. You think I'm a magic 8 ball. It's fine, I'm used to it. Have you picked up anything unusual about her behavior that could possibly precede a suicide attempt?"

"Well I certainly hope not. I thought she was making progress, even. I figured after toughing it out for this long, she'd have the strength to see Perotta again, even if it's only to turn down a new partnership. Guess I was wrong."

"Pffff. Where could she possibly be if she's not in her usual hiding places?"

"No idea. She disappeared once, some months ago. She didn't come to work one morning, and Hodgins told us Brennan had gone home early looking all panicky the day before, and we thought maybe she... You know. We were really worried. Angela found her in the cemetery after calling the police. She'd been crying on Booth's tombstone for the entire night."

"...Jesus."

"Yeah."

Dr. Saroyan stopped ignoring me for long enough to throw me an evil glare, as though this whole mess was entirely my fault. Then, she turned to the young psychiatrist again and I seemed to fade into the background once more. Even the intern carefully ignored me.

"Do you have any idea where she could be, Sweets?"

"No. I mean, I'm not a mind reader, if she's not in the graveyard she could have left town for all I know. She hasn't been talking to anybody much, especially not me. I don't know. Maybe she just wants to momentarily isolate herself from the people she cares about." He sighed. "I guess it wasn't such a good idea to let _her_ come." He pointed at me with his chin. I felt like unwanted furniture. Maybe I should get out and let them deal with Dr. Brennan's emotional breakdown by themselves since they've treated me like ugly wallpaper for the last few hours.

"God, how likely is it for people to kill themselves just because they saw their ex-partner's replacement person? You're the shrink, you should know better than me, Sweets."

"Erm... Well, I assume she's not quite as self-destructive as a few months ago. I don't think agent Perotta's sudden reappearance is enough for anybody to kill themselves over either, but... You never know what might provoke someone."

So basically it's all my fault if she ends up shooting herself in the head? Gee, thanks.

"When she saw Perotta she just... fled. Right out of the door. I wish I had stopped her."

"Why did you let Perotta in? Doctor Brennan pretty vehemently refused to get a new partner, it's not like she was likely to change her mind."

"The bureau doesn't want the interns to handle this case. It's too big."

"Politics?"

"Missing congressman."

"Oh, _that_ guy? They... Well... well okay, the media coverage is probably gonna be immense, I admit, but it's not a good reason to bring back potentially painful memories by introducing agent Perotta again."

"I hoped Brennan wouldn't take it quite this badly."

"You're asking her to replace Booth!"

"We weren't asking her to accept a full-blown partnership, just a tiny, temporary little..."

"You're asking her to replace him with a woman she despises, who flirted shamelessly with agent Booth when he was alive, and, and..."

The intern suddenly stopped ignoring me and stared at me with astonishment.

Ouch. He makes me sound like a slut. What did he expect me to do? Fine, so I was pretty sure Booth was in love with the bone lady, but that doesn't mean I couldn't try. Is it my fault if the guy was sexy and single?

"Sweets, calm down."

"Sorry. I shouldn't blame you Cam, you couldn't know. I'm just... I'm worried."

"We all are."

The intern cleared his throat and talked for the first time. "Doctor Saroyan?" he asked. "Could I go look for Doctor Brennan too? I'd probably be more useful out there anyway. I mean this guy's already dead and beyond saving, but she's not."

"Sure. Certainly," she shrugged in return.

What about my dead body? No one cares about the case anymore?

He snapped off his gloves and briskly left the lab, throwing me a dirty glare as he left. I really don't understand why they're all so damn loyal to that woman.

"Well, there's only us left, Sweets. You think we should go look for her too?"

"I..." He was cut off by the sound of a cellphone.

"Did you find her?" Doctor Saroyan anxiously demanded as soon as she held up the phone to her ear, but the answer must have surprised her. She looked startled and more than a little annoyed. I guess they didn't find Brennan yet.

"Angela wants to talk to you," she mumbled as she held the phone... to me?

"Hello?" I asked suspiciously.

"I just gotta know something."

"Well, feel free to ask, Miss Montenegro."

"Do you know a guy called Eric Lombard?"

"Do you mean _Agent_ Eric Lombard?" I dated him a couple years ago. Didn't last very long. He's kinda boring after a while.

"Yeah. He works for the FBI if I remember correctly."

"Why do you want to know? Do you think he kidnapped Doctor Brennan?"

"What? No, no, I'm only curious. I got back from the Hoover building and it reminded me... You know what, just answer the question, blondie. I mean Agent Perotta, sorry. Is he hot?"

Blondie, huh? "Well, if you insist, I would say he is definitely hot. Dark brown hair, deep brown eyes, buff, wide shoulder, yummy biceps, average height, pretty nice guy. Why do you need to know?"

"Dark hair and brown eyes?"

"Yes."

"Yummy arms?"

"Yes."

"That sounds like a shorter version of Booth."

"Now that you mention it, I could see the resemblance. They both have gorgeous smiles."

"God. That is... sad. Thanks."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. You know what, maybe you should go. We appreciate you waiting around, truly, but you don't have to waste your time."

"What about the congressman? I need an identification as fast as possible."

"The guy is dead. Brennan is not. I think that makes her the priority." Even if I agree with her, the journalists won't.

I sighed, handing the phone to Doctor Saroyan. I still had a missing forensic anthropologist and a dead congressman on my plate and I didn't know what to do about either. Everyone in the building, even the random grad students I've never met and Dr Sweets (who is supposed to be on MY side), seemed to hate me with a burning passion. I'll get fired if I leave.

Plus, what if Brennan _is_ suicidal?

A patter of feet made our heads turn. A... little boy was running through the doors of the lab. What on earth?

"Where's Bones?" He yelled while climbing up the steps to the platform where we were gathered, causing the alarms to go off in a painful cacophony.

"How, how did you get past security, Parker?" The shrink replied, looking as surprised as I felt.

A guy followed the boy through the door. "He's with me," he hurriedly informed us, flashing his FBI badge in our direction. "Please, we'd like to see Doctor Brennan... What are you doing here, Perotta?"

"Me? Why are_ you_ here, Charlie?" I answered.

What the hell is going on?

"I'm... I'm accompanying Parker. He wants to talk with the Bone Lady about his father's death."

Booth had a kid?

"Hey, you know what? Forget about Agent Perotta, all right? Nothing's gonna change between me and you."

Things had changed.

I watched as children skated in circles, laughing. Expressing an innocent happiness I no longer possessed. Skating around and around on the frozen surface, going absolutely no where, yet smiling brightly without a care in the world. How can such a pointless activity bring such joy to anybody?

I had laughed too, once. I had fallen down, skated on clumsily, held Booth's big warm hand in mine.

The memory felt so far away, now. Blurry. Indistinct. Agent Perotta was trying to wipe him out, to replace him even though I had made quite clear that the last thing I wanted was a partnership with her. Or was I overreacting? Was I being unfair?

"Nothing's gonna change between me and you."

No. No, I wasn't being unfair.

For the umpteenth time I wished I had died instead. Booth still had too much to live for, too much to lose. He might miss me if I had died, he might feel the sting of his overwhelming Catholic guilt, but he would have been able to watch Parker grow into a fine young man, he would have married a nice girl who isn't insensitive, contentious or cold, and started the family he was so certain he'd eventually get. In the end he'd move on.

But what was I good for? Why was I alive if my life went around in directionless circles, when I felt as dead as the bones I examined to blot him out of my mind? Instead of the quiet satisfaction I once felt after an identification, the restlessness never left me anymore.

A couple skated in front of me. I loathed them for no particular reason aside from their obvious happiness.

He didn't even have time to think before slamming me to the ground. I didn't even understand what he was doing. All I could feel was the warmth of his broad chest, my breathing becoming difficult because of his weight pressing against my body, the proximity of his face, his strong steady heartbeat against my breast, and when I finally realized his eyes were closed, the bomb immediately exploded as though to confirm all my nightmares are real.

"You're gonna make me fall!"

"I'm never gonna make you fall, I'm always here."

And I had been falling ever since. Booth's death made me fall. Booth made me fall. Booth was gone, Booth left, Booth had lied, and I'll never skate with him again or argue with him or watch a sunset with him or tell him how much I need him, how much I love him, how much I miss him, how much I hate myself.

Maybe I should go to the cemetery and have a talk with his tombstone. It makes me feel better sometimes.

"Dr. Brennan?" someone behind my back asked hesitantly. His voice was full of hope.

"What are you doing here, Wendell?" I replied tiredly, unwillingly turning away from the ice. I probably should have been surprised by his presence, but I couldn't find the energy to care.

"Oh, thank God you're ok," he exclaimed. For a second or two he looked like he was going to hug me, but he wisely decided against it and dialed a phone number instead.

"Doctor Saroyan? Yeah, I found her. She's at the ice rink, she's fine. I know. I can't believe I didn't think of the rink earlier either. Can you tell Miss Montenegro... What? ...Agent Booth had a _kid_? Oh, well, that's... I'm not sure if it's a good idea, but... really? Ok, well, alright."

I hope they weren't too worried about me. If Wendell is here, Cam must still be doing her autopsy on the corpse...

"Can I sit with you for a moment, Doctor Brennan?" His tone was timid. He'd always been more comfortable around Booth and Hodgins than with me.

Booth liked Wendell. He thought he was the only normal squint in the lab. They played hockey together, and Booth had to pull some strings to get him into the FBI team when he was only an intern at the museum.

And Wendell liked Booth. I saw him cry at the funeral.

I nodded. "You can sit if you want, Wendell."

I sat besides Doctor Brennan and watched the skaters skate around and around on the ice. Should I start a conversation or should we both stay in awkward silence until Booth's son arrives?

"I'm sorry," I mumbled. I could think of nothing else to say.

"Why?" she whispered tiredly.

"About your loss, I mean. I'm sorry about your loss."

She stared at me, and I had the feeling she was seeing me for the first time. She shook her head in disbelief. She chuckled humorlessly.

"Thank you," she replied softly. She had a sad smile on her face. Did I do something wrong?

"I mean, I... Booth was a nice guy. A great guy," I continued lamely.

"He liked you."

"He did? Well, that's... that's nice of him. I... When he died... I didn't expect him to die so suddenly."

"Me neither."

"But I'm glad you're alive, though. I'm sure Booth would be glad that you're alive too. And I know he'd want you to move on. I mean, I haven't known him for as long as you have of course, so you probably know what he would've wanted better than I do, but if he saved your life he must have wanted you to live, right?"

"I'm not going to commit suicide, Wendell."

"No, no," I said hurriedly, "that's not what I meant. I mean... you've been depressed, Doctor Brennan. Booth wouldn't want you to be. And I know it's none of my business, but I think all your friends, your family, they don't want you to be depressed either. I know you can't help it if you're depressed, but still, happiness... It's a decision, don't you think? At least I think it is. You're the one who decides if you're gonna pick yourself up or mope forever. When someone dies, you can be sad, and wish they weren't gone, and live your life with all these regrets and what-ifs and, and stuff, but that isn't really any good. Instead you should feel grateful of the time you shared. Those memories of people who're already gone, they're a gift the Lord gave us to cherish." That's what my old man told me before he died. He was a smart old guy, my father. "Um, am I being annoying? 'Cause I can shut up if you want." After that big long monologue I just made, it was probably a little late to ask.

She smiled at me then. And it was a great smile, not a bitter one.

"You're not annoying." She's pretty when she smiles, even when she's got scars on her face. No wonder Booth was all gaga over her. I don't think she believed what I told her, but she seemed to appreciate the effort.

"Oh. Well that's good. Thanks." I didn't know what else to say.

We sat in silence then. But it was a more comfortable silence than before, almost friendly. Doctor Brennan had never really been friendly with me before. Booth was the friendly one, and Brennan was the professional, weird, beautiful boss. I'll never understand why all the employees are so hot at the lab.

"Hey, Doctor Brennan?" I broke the cozy silence we'd both settled in.

"Yes?"

"There's a little boy running towards us. I think he might want to talk to you." I smiled, and pointed at the short figure with floppy hair who could only be Booth's kid. Cute little thing. He navigated his way through the bleachers with some man I didn't know following behind him.

"Park..." she whispered. I'm not sure what I expected her reaction to be, but I didn't think she'd look so miserable and afraid. Or either. Both?

She stood up, and for a second I thought she would run away. But she just stood there with this weird scared look on her face.

"Bones, there you are!" the boy told her before tackling her into a bear hug. "Do you know how hard it is to talk to you? I had to make Charlie come with me, and you weren't at the lab, and then we had to wait and then they said you were at the ice rink and they wouldn't let me come here and they said that I would bother you and you didn't want to see me, but I..."

I still can't believe Booth had a kid. Sure, I'd seen the boy cry at the funeral, but I thought he was just a nephew or something. I mean Booth? A father? It just seems... improbable. Not that he would make a bad daddy or anything, but I'd never even known that the guy had gotten married before. And he was such a workaholic, how did he have the time and energy to catch murderers and raise a young child on the side?

Well, I guess it just never popped up during conversation.

Doctor Saroyan and Doctor Sweets suddenly appeared behind the man I assumed was named Charlie.

"You alright, Doctor Brennan?"

"We were so worried..."

She completely ignored everyone but the boy babbling in front of her.

"Why are you here, Parker?" Her voice was barely audible.

"I need to talk to you about stuff," he gravelly replied. He glared at us with a little frown that immediately reminded me of his dad. "Leave us alone, please," he commanded.

We looked at each other and slowly shuffled away. I admit I kinda wanted to hear what they would say.

"No, Charlie, not you. You stay here."

"Me? Why?"

"Just in case something bad happens _again_ and I need FBI support. But don't look. Just, just turn around and put your hands on your ears and hum."

"What? ... Okay then." He turned around, rolled his eyes, and started humming. He must of known how ridiculous the situation was. An elementary schooler ordering a big grown-up FBI Agent to hum.

The rest of us sat down together on a bench, watching them from a distance.

"I don't think she realized how anxious we were about her disappearance," Sweets mumbled.

"Nope. Good job thinking of the ice rink, Wendell."

"Thanks, Doctor Saroyan."

"You guys remember that hockey game when Booth broke his hand?" Cam asked, grinning.

"Yeah. He broke it against that dead guy's head, Pete Carlson. Bastard hid stolen jewelry in his fish tank," I smiled at the memory.

"Agent Booth displayed a great deal of his ordinarily hidden violence that day. Which, in my opinion, stemmed from..."

"Oh Sweets, stop analyzing. He's dead now, leave him alone."

"Sorry. Though I have to point out that Agent Booth's way of dying was totally predictable."

"Booth always was overprotective."

"And all stupid in love with Doctor Brennan."

"Yeah."

"I hope she doesn't freak out like she did last time she saw Parker. What do you think he wants to tell her so badly?"

I hummed.

I could still hear what they were saying, of course.

"Are you sad to see me, Bones?" Parker said.

"I..."

"Oh, please don't feel sad. I'm glad to see you. You've no idea how hard it was for me to get to talk with you. If Charlie hadn't decided to help you would've been able to avoid me forever."

"I..."

"It's not your fault if my dad is dead. You know that, right?"

"...What?"

"Do you feel guilty Bones?"

There was a long silence. The only thing I could identify from her was pain. It was etched all over her disfigured face.

"Hey Charlie, stop peeking,"

"Right, sorry." I turned around again and mentally fumbled for a song to hum.

"You shouldn't feel guilty."

"Oh Parker, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. If I hadn't... I should have listened to him, I shouldn't have entered the building, he yelled at me to stop and I didn't listen..."

"Bones, it's not..."

"And now you don't have a father anymore. Because of me. It's all because of me. He should have ducked, he should have left me to die instead of saving me like the bastard that he is. That he was. The... the stupid, selfless, wonderful bastard..."

"Calm down..."

"He had a son, he had dreams, he had a family to start someday, and I killed it, I killed him, his eyes were closed and I killed him and I could feel the warmth of his skin through his shirt an his heartbeat against my chest and then there was a white light and he was gone, he was gone, and he made me fall when he said he wouldn't let me fall..."

"Bones?" He sounded a little scared now. I slowly helped Doctor Brennan sit down, but her eyes were fixed on Parker. Tears were streaming down her face, and her scars were glistening wet.

"He said things wouldn't change but they did, and I fell, I'm falling, and he's not there anymore to pick me up... And I can't be happy, I can't cherish the memories when they hurt so much, when I know I don't deserve to be alive..."

"My dad loved you. He saved you. He thought you deserve to live." He hugged her then, and she cried on his shoulder. The three people sitting on the bench started to stand up, worried by the scene.

"Dad wouldn't want you to say things like that," he assured, wiping her tears away with his small hands.

"But it's true. It's all true."

"It's not your fault if he's dead. It's the fault of whoever made the bomb. And he could pick between saving you or ducking, so he picked you, so it's really his fault if he's dead too. It means your life is more important than, than his dreams of marrying you and having a family with you and stuff. You're his dream anyway, Bones."

"What?"

"He would be sad if he hadn't saved you. He would be feeling guilty, and thinking it's his fault if you're dead, just like you right now."

"But he's gone now. Now he's gone. And I'm alone, like I deserve to be."

"Dad is still here. We still remember him, and as long as we still love him, he won't really be gone. I know he wouldn't want you to be falling, so I want to help him catch you and pick you up. So don't feel guilty, ok? Please?"

It was such a childish and naïve thing to say. Yet somehow I found myself agreeing with every word. Maybe Parker, free from our adult cynicism, had an unclouded view of the world that we grown-ups all lacked. There was nothing but certainty in his tone. The kind of unwavering certainty only children have.

"Thank you, Parker," she told him.

I closed my eyes. I hadn't felt so... content, so peaceful in a long time.

"I'm never gonna make you fall, I'm always here," Booth's voice said. I could hear it clearly, almost as though he was standing right next to me, twirling me around on the ice, his smile illuminating my mind, his warm brown eyes barely concealing his love. The most beautiful kind of brown. The right kind of brown. The exact same brown as the eyes of his son.

Booth kept his promise.

I might not be happy in a while yet. But the guilt was gone, Parker made sure of that. I might never meet someone like Booth again, or be as completely fulfilled as when he was with me, but I had my memories. They weren't enough, yet at the same time they were. They can last me a lifetime. I still had all the things Booth had given me, love, respect, understanding, my memories, my life, and maybe they were enough. Maybe I can be happy in the future, maybe I'll be fine after all. I was healing. I'd stopped falling. Booth will always be here.

"Thank you," I whispered.

**This is me at my most positive =P. Really. So far the 'BB character death' fics I've read only have Booth or Brennan grieving, nothing about acceptance. At some point during the writing, this last chapter became... not depressing. I didn't think I'd ever write sappy uplifting stuff. It's weird how stories work.**

**I'm going back to Canada in two days and I finished it in time, so woot for me.**

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